


Devoted

by fudgioam



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, James "Bucky" Barnes/Linda (Black Panther movies) - Freeform, Post-Black Panther (2018), because erik dies as in canon, because she is talked about so infrequently the tag does not exist on its own, but she gets two men anyway, endgame bucky/linda, erik/linda is in the past, linda is badass and don't need a man, linda is the OFC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2020-10-24 22:42:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20713748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fudgioam/pseuds/fudgioam
Summary: Linda survives being shot by her lover Erik Killmonger, but when she travels to Wakanda to meet him as planned, she, instead, finds a semi-stable super assassin who sees her both as the soldier she strives to be and the woman she really is. [Linda/Bucky] [past Linda/Killmonger]





	1. Prologue

“Baby, we living in the moment. I’ve been a menace for the longest, but I ain’t finished. I’m devoted, and you know it.” – Kanye West

***

Linda was a good soldier at first – no one could deny that. 

Enlisting in the Air Force was the easiest decision she’d ever made. Her high-school boyfriend complained about registering for the draft before graduation, but the more he bitched about it, the more the glory of the military called to her. She ditched the boy for wings.

And Linda always wanted to travel. Her mother never let her stray far from their block. Whenever she told people she was from Philly, they assumed she came from a row of crumbling houses, with half their windows boarded, barely escaping the grasp of whichever drug dealer ruled the street that month. She was born and raised in West Philadelphia, but not the one the Fresh Prince described. Her childhood home had its walls and windows intact. It had a sturdy porch and a car parked out front. Her parents still lived there, still married, now retired comfortably. Linda grew up safe. But safe was never what she wanted.

So she leaped at the chance to sign her life to the military and fly far from home. Commanding officers barked orders at her, more loudly, more venomously than at her peers. She may have been an esteemed enlisted soldier, but she was still a black woman in America. She tamed her bushy curls into a tight bun at the nape of her neck so her regulation cap sat firmly on her head while in uniform. She didn’t flinch when the staff sergeant stumbled over her last name.

Private Linda Baboolal.

She stood out in the sea of white men. Brown skin. Wild black hair. Dark eyes. Wide nose. Full lips. And a uterus. Her fellow airmen gave her a wide birth, too afraid of her reaction to their “locker room lads” humor to engage in more than pleasantries. Linda did not consider this a loss. She focused on the job.

She relished the image of herself as a warrior. She was unstoppable physically, she could survive any situation thrown at her, she knew exactly what to do at all times. So despite dubious looks from her superiors, she applied for special ops during basic training. Recon. She had always been observant – she’d be a perfect scout on the battlefield. And she would be needed when gathering intelligence in countries where all those white men would stand out.

So she trained. She pushed her body to limits she never knew existed. Every inch of her became lithe muscle. She could perform tasks on land, water and air, she could leap from a plane hundreds of feet in the air without hesitation, she could survive in all terrains with nothing but the clothes on her back.

Linda had only been in one fight in her life before the military. A girl in her fifth-grade homeroom stole her lunch and then announced to the entire class that Linda Baboolal would never stick up for herself: anyone could do anything to her, and Linda Baboolal would sit and take it. Linda had never heard the word “pussy” used in that disdainful way before, but it made something snap in her brain. Her jaw clenched. Her nostrils flared. The girl’s eyes met hers, and her laughter dissolved before Linda even moved. She pounced on the girl, tackling her to the faded classroom carpet, and punched her. In the face. Repeatedly.

Linda hardly recognized that girl who beat the shit out of a kid who called her a pussy at age 11. That loss of control was new, and something she never wanted to see again. So she buried the incident in a dark corner of her chest, reliving the memory only during nights where sleep refused to save her from herself. 

When her commander put a weapon in her hand for the first time, it felt wrong. She remembered the girl’s bloody face and fought the instinct to tell her sergeant that she couldn’t be trusted with a gun. That there was something inside her that could really hurt someone.

But she learned quickly: that was the point. The rage that trickled through her veins, waiting for another reason to be unleashed, could be harnessed. The gun in her hand was a tool – she was the real weapon.

She fought with guns, knives, her own fists, you name it. And she was good. And she was obedient. She never questioned what the commanders asked of her. After training, she joined the special recon unit. She followed orders as she was dropped in every shady corner of the world, watching her country’s enemies, waiting for her moment to strike.

And she did strike. She struck the way she was trained: to kill. On those restless nights where her eyes stared into the surrounding darkness, her mind wandered to one tired man in an Afghani hovel. When she emerged from the shadows, he stared at her, eyes questioning. She wondered if he’d ever seen a black woman before. He reached into his shawl, and Linda didn’t hesitate. She pulled the trigger on her rifle, and he crumpled to the ground. For a split second, it didn’t matter that the man had organized several bombings of civilian areas. Linda put a bullet into the brain of a human being. She sniffed, storing any lingering emotion deep in her chest to address some other time. She didn’t have to wonder if he’d ever see another black woman again.

She lost count of the people she killed. She didn’t always know why they needed to die. Her commander told her to shoot, so she did. She knew the officers found her talents in the field valuable but she also knew they’d never make her one of them. She milked the air force for additional technological training before she transferred to work black ops for the CIA. 

Linda was no longer a scout. She was a spy. She was the warrior of her dreams, but now she could become anyone. She shucked oysters at a Grecian market, she worked security for a South Korean prep school, she cleaned hotel rooms in Brazil. She was invisible. And she was still deadly. She was assigned targets – faces with sins that maybe could be redeemed. But they were never her call to make. 

Linda was a good soldier – no one could deny that.

But something gnawed at her as two more years ticked past. She travelled the world, she was the warrior she always wanted to see in the mirror, she was far from the safety of her childhood. But even on location in a Russian tavern, she could never stop being a black woman in America. Her peers would never look past the color of her skin to see the power inside her. She was passed over for officer promotion two years in a row before she became a sergeant. By then it was too late. She continued to kill without question, but a thought seared itself permanently to the back of her mind.

Maybe the actual war was at home. Maybe the country she fought for unwaveringly every day was fighting against her. Maybe she should stand with her sisters at home instead of the white men in her unit. Maybe it was time her country proved itself to her instead of the other way around.

And then… Somalia. Linda was sent as part of the tech team at base camp awaiting assistance from a trio of Navy SEALs. She barely glanced at the two white boys who entered the tent, stone-faced. But the third SEAL was a man she’d heard of through the rumor mill.

The Killmonger. A seasoned soldier who tracked his kills on his body so that scars ticked every inch of him. A nod to some tribal custom, she’d heard. His reputation earned him her curious glance. Linda left her gaze there to appreciate his fit body. Many of her colleagues had solid muscles under their uniforms, so he was hardly a novelty. But she wasn’t dead. She could admire a nice ass when it sauntered into her command center. 

But when his dark eyes met hers, she felt the universe click into place in a way it never had before. She saw a burning passion in him that she wanted to engulf her entirely. He had exactly what she lacked: purpose. A way to channel the fury within her that felt so wrong. A way to translate her bubbling anger into action she actually found meaningful. She wouldn’t admit it at first but Linda was in love with him from that initial moment. She could tell even then that it would be both her salvation and her doom that Erik Stevens saw something in her too. 

Linda was a good soldier – until she learned she could be something better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first foray into writing in the MCU and only my second fanfic total. I appreciate any and all feedback!


	2. Take This Pain Away

“I’m all cried out with nothing to say. You’re everything I wanted to be. If you could only see your heart belongs to me. I love you so much. I’m yearning for your touch. Come and set me free. Forever yours, I’ll be.” – Keyshia Cole

***

Linda’s eyes drifted open. She blinked a few times, and a dimly lit room came into view. She was lying on a metal cot, wearing a thin hospital gown with mesh shorts. An IV trailed from her arm to a sagging bag that hung from a rusty hook above her. A metal band with a barcode circled her wrist. The pungent antiseptic smell of a medical center assaulted her. But she knew this was no hospital.

The restraints securing her ankles and wrists to the bedframe were her first indicator. And she was alone. An injured woman with no identification would never be treated to a private room. She should be shoved in a corner with a half dozen other recovering patients. This isolation was not a luxury – it was dangerous.

Linda wished she knew how much time had passed. The room had no window to suggest the hour of the day and it was lit by a single light bulb that hung close to the ceiling. She closed her eyes, trying to visualize the last thing she remembered.

And then regretted it.

Her eyes flew open, and she choked on a sob. The last thing she remembered was… the love of her life shooting her in the chest. 

She could almost feel Ulysses Klaue’s only arm grabbing her now, locked expertly under her shoulder while he jammed a gun to her head.

“Drop it!” he bellowed, his South African accent harsh in her ear. In front of them both stood Erik, his face radiating fury. “Or your little Bonnie and Clyde routine ends today. Put your gun down now!”

Linda lifted her eyes to Erik, not to the gun he aimed toward her and the one-armed arms dealer at her back.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “Sorry, Erik.”

And she was. She wanted to support him in his effort to reclaim his destiny in Wakanda, to redistribute the wealth the country held, to give oppressed people around the world a chance to fight for what they deserve on equal grounds. But now she was a hindrance, an unexpected obstacle in the mission. What kind of warrior lets herself be overpowered like this? She let her guard down and, in doing so, let Erik down, the only person she cared about in the world.

And this man she loved? He stared steadily back at her, not blinking. 

“It’s gonna be okay.”

His words barely registered when his gun fired. She didn’t realize what happened until Klaue’s sweaty arm released her and she collapsed. Pain radiated from her chest, just above her left breast. Her heart. Her eyes welled with unshed tears as she fought to draw a ragged breath. Each beat of her heart brought a fresh wave of blood leaking through her shirt. The Killmonger always fired a weapon with one purpose only. And as she surrendered to the blackness of unconsciousness, another whispered apology left her lips.

Death was what she deserved, what Erik intended for her. Yet here she was. The heart he ripped with a bullet still beat defiantly against her ribs. Not without pain, she noted with a grimace. Her chest ached terribly, despite whatever opioid was pumping through her veins, and every breath was taken with a heaving effort. 

Through her medically induced grogginess, she considered how she survived. Erik wouldn’t hold her in captivity like this – he was particularly sensitive to bondage, even for enemies. And Klaue would have let her bleed out in that plane junkyard. Someone else must have been there… a wound like hers required immediate treatment. And the heart was delicate. Whoever rescued her held extensive medical knowledge. 

But why the restraints? Was she recognized as ex American military turned mercenary? Was she under arrest? She wouldn’t blame them. The people she killed in her wake since leaving the Air Force could now be considered murder victims rather than… “classified casualties.” But wouldn’t there be a guard in the room with her? There must have been surveillance of some kind in the room, but she couldn’t see a camera in the dingy grey room.

A clanging sound came from the only door in the room, and Linda’s heart pounded, sending a fresh wave of pain through her body. Several locks unbolted and then the door swung open. A slim Korean woman entered in medical scrubs, her face hidden behind a surgical mask. Linda wasn’t surprised. There was no way she was fit to travel far from Busan where she had fallen.

“You’re awake,” the woman said in English. Linda didn’t react, but hearing her native tongue surprised her. 

The woman’s dark eyes scanned her chart, and gloved hands took Linda’s vitals. Linda opened her mouth to speak and coughed instead. But her parched throat was secondary to the stabbing pain her movement caused.

The woman tutted behind her mask. “Stop moving. You’ll make this worse for yourself.” She pulled a syringe from her pocket and flicked it twice to remove trapped air. As she injected the liquid into Linda’s IV, she explained, “For the pain. And the restraints are for your own safety.”

Linda doubted that but did not attempt to speak again. She licked her dry lips, wondering if asking for water would be worth another potential coughing fit. The motion wasn’t lost on her nurse, who nodded toward the half-empty saline bag dripping into her arm.

“You have the hydration you need.”

Frustration blossomed in her gut but was quickly quelled as the effects of whatever drug the nurse administered hit her system. Consciousness began to fade despite her best efforts to keep her eyes open.

The woman headed toward the exit and paused, finally looking Linda in the eye. Something in her calculating gaze sent a chill down Linda’s spine.

“I’ll be back soon, Sergeant Baboolal.”

The shock of hearing her name from the masked woman zipped down her spine, and then the nurse was gone, locking the door behind her. And Linda was lost to the darkness.

***

When Linda awoke an indeterminate amount of time later, she was less groggy and more certain that she needed to escape this place. Whoever these people were, they knew her. That could only be bad news. She no longer had the protection of the U.S. government, and even the organization who hired her as a mercenary would no longer support her. Klaue was either dead or on the run by now. The gun to her head proved how expendable she was to him. And Erik… had other priorities. She was on her own, with no formal identification, no weapons, not even clothes on her back. But this was exactly what she was trained for.

The problem was that she needed to heal. And healing took time. Linda couldn’t feel bandaging on her back, so she guessed she had no exit wound. The bullet must have been extracted surgically. Or worse… fragments that were too delicate to touch remained in her chest. If she didn’t let her body recover, she could send herself into cardiac arrest. And the wound itself needed treatment, primarily antibiotics. She’d die of infection before she could leave the Korean peninsula.

But there was so much risk staying in this room. Who was it that captured her and found her worth healing? What purpose did they have for her? Nothing good, Linda guessed. So as time ticked by, Linda did what she’d been trained to do and plotted her escape.

Plying the nurse with questions was fruitless. The same woman tended her every few hours, and Linda wondered how she slept. But her eyes above the mask were always sharp. She still didn’t know what drugs she was receiving, but Linda was relieved nothing seemed to be having an addictive effect on her. It would be much harder run away if she was nursing a narcotic habit. To Linda’s surprise, she could feel herself growing stronger as time ticked past. Her breathing eased, the ever-present soreness lessened… but she was asleep more often than not, and Linda hated it. She knew it was the drugs, but with her dependency on antibiotics, she could hardly rip out her IV. Her request for oral tablets did not garner a response from the nurse.

“I’m getting weak,” Linda said one day as the nurse checked her vitals. “I should be moving, or my muscles will deteriorate.”

The nurse glared at her with black eyes. “I know how to do my job.”

Linda couldn’t say more as she was pumped full of medicine that sent her off to sleep. When she awoke sometime later, her chest tightened with anxiety. She gambled that her captors wanted her to be healed to full capacity, but what if they didn’t? What if they encouraged her weakness, ensuring she could never escape? But if they didn’t need her for her capabilities as a trained military operative, why would they keep her at all?

The door clanged open to reveal the first new face Linda had seen in at least a month. This woman also wore a surgical mask covering her face, like her nurse, but her brown eyes were wide. Linda didn’t relax though because she could tell from this woman’s stiff gait that she was a warrior, like herself. The holstered pistols on each hip and sword secured across her back supported her theory. 

The wide-eyed woman with her black hair tied in a tight bun said nothing as she approached, and from her immense focus, Linda wondered if she was here to assassinate her. Instead, she unstrapped Linda’s restraints from her wrists and ankles and forced her to sit up in her cot. She gripped Linda’s arm tightly and hissed in her ear in Korean: “Do not go wrong.”

Linda did not react to the veiled threat but let herself be yanked to her feet. They paused for a moment while Linda adjusted to standing for the first time in weeks, blinking the stars from her eyes. Then, they moved as a unit through the doorway into a fluorescent lit hallway. It was narrow, and Linda still couldn’t see any windows. She guessed they were underground. They passed a few unmarked doors, and an elevator, but nothing was accessible without a key card. Difficult circumstances, Linda determined, but not hopeless. 

She kept her mouth shut as her armed guard forced her to use her muscles by walking down the corridor. She didn’t complain, even as her legs screamed in protest with each step and her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. She slid back into the cot afterward, let the wide-eyed guard wordlessly bind her and lock her in her cell alone again. Because she only needed to bide her time.

***

Linda lost track of how many times the guard had walked her in the corridor. With all the drug-induced naps, she wasn’t even sure how many times a day they occurred. But eventually, Linda found her window of opportunity.

The guard sniffled as she released Linda from her restraints and pulled her off her cot. A fatal mistake. The woman was suffering from a cold, and Linda smelled her weakness and acted. 

She grabbed the woman’s sword from her back and before the somewhat dazed woman could reach for either of her guns, Linda plunged the sword into her chest. With her free hand she squeezed the woman’s throat as tightly as she could, thumb pressing into her vocal chord so she couldn’t cry out. 

She squirmed, but Linda forced her to the ground, squeezing her thighs against the holsters on both of her hips so she couldn’t reach her guns. As they hit the concrete floor, Linda felt the sting of the IV yanking from her arm but didn’t relinquish her hold. Confident that the woman was pinned, Linda lifted her other hand to the woman’s throat, and the woman let out a strangled cough. A flurry of emotions crossed those wide eyes before settling on determined acceptance. As Linda squeezed the last breath out of her, she rasped.

“H- Hail huh- hy- h-”

Linda’s heart was pounding, and it wasn’t just from exerting the most strength she’s needed to since her near fatal shooting. Though the woman didn’t finish her final proclamation before going limp, wide eyes bloodshot and bulging, Linda had a sick feeling she knew the organization she intended to name.

But she didn’t have time to panic. Linda snatched the guard’s two guns and ID card and left the sword shoved in her chest. She hesitated and then grabbed her medical file, cramming it down the back of her mesh underpants, the only clothing she wore besides an open-backed gown. She peered into the hall, relieved she had been silent enough to not arouse attention. She crept silently toward the elevator. In an ideal world, she could steal the antibiotics she needed, maybe even some clothes. But she did not dare push her luck. She needed to leave. Now.

It worried her immensely, as she tapped the guard’s card to call the elevator, that she hadn’t encountered anyone else, not that she ever saw another person on her walks. But as the elevator doors slid, and Linda ducked inside, she was on edge. She hadn’t even run into her nurse.

The elevator opened into a lobby for a corporate office building, but it was deserted. From the layer of dust and decay on the furniture, it had been abandoned for a long time. But Linda didn’t stop. The front doors were locked, so she used a chair to shatter the glass and escape. Again, she drew no attention as she stepped into the light of day, which was alarming, but she continued.

She moved down the road of a quiet industrial park. She wondered if it was the weekend, as it seemed to be mid-morning and no one was around. After a few minutes, a man in a motorized cart turned a corner toward her, and Linda hid the guns behind her back, forcing her face into a look of despair.

The man’s eyes widened, and he pulled his cart close to her, shouting in Korean. Linda let out a convincing wail of despair, and the man jumped from his seat to come closer, brows furrowed with concern. Once he was within range, she held the barrel of one pistol in her hand and slammed the grip into the man’s head. He fell to the ground, motionless, and Linda dragged him behind a building, out of sight. 

Clothed in the man’s jeans, boots, ballcap, and hoodie, with a pocket full of cash, Linda strode along a busy street with markets on either side. Before leaving the nearly empty industrial estate, she tried everything she could think of to remove the metal bracelet on her wrist. The thing wouldn’t budge. It had no clasp and pressed tightly into her skin. She even tried shooting the thing off but was left with nothing to show for her effort but powder burn.

She feared the bracelet had a tracking device, which would explain why she could escape with such ease. She would be easy to find and recover. But she continued her plan anyway. The bracelet would have to be dealt with later.

She picked a few pockets as she continued down the street. The more cash she could find, the better. She purchased a backpack and sunglasses with stolen won, and then sneaked into the back of a pharmacy, where she loaded her new backpack with gauze, medical tape, antibiotics, and ibuprofen – the bare minimum she needed for her injury.

And then Linda made her way to the airplane junkyard where she was… supposed to leave with Erik. The place seemed empty except for the heaps of broken-down planes, but Linda knew where to look. In the far corner of the lot stood a small office, and Linda entered stoically. A wily looking man sat alone at a desk and raised one eyebrow at her entrance. Linda didn’t hesitate to lay out the impressive amount of cash she’d gathered.

“Your next flight to somewhere with brown people,” she demanded.

***

“Somewhere” turned out to be New Delhi, India. She laid low in the city for a while, searching headlines for news about Wakanda. If Erik’s plan was carried out, it would be a huge deal: overthrowing an African king, exposing fratricide on behalf of the previous ruler, revealing the technological capabilities of an alleged third-world country, supplying advanced weapons to oppressed people around the world… newspapers would be screaming about the scandal of it all. Linda learned two months passed since she was shot, but Wakanda was as absent from international news as it usually was.

When she was well enough, no longer requiring antibiotics, her wound forming a splotchy scar on her chest and unbandaged, she moved south, toward the west coast in Mumbai. Even if she heard any news from Wakanda from the papers, Linda was always heading there. After all, Erik was going there: it was the home he’d never seen, the utopia he described to her so beautifully so many times. She needed to go there, to see him. She was sure he hadn’t wanted to kill her. That if he saw her alive and well, he’d be relieved, overjoyed. They could rule the world together, she would be his queen, like they dreamed.

But she was eating breakfast in a small café outside of Mumbai one day in October when she felt the first shard of fear that this dream could never happen. The hour was early but the sun had already baked the town to an uncomfortable degree. Linda was sweating in her loose trousers and tank top, still stuck in that damn metal bracelet, but nonetheless enjoying the chai she sipped in the crowded café. That is, until her eyes flicked casually to the television in the corner, and she nearly spat out her drink.

Linda knew very little Marathi, but the press conference the morning news show broadcast was in English. She stared in awe as the Wakandan king T’Challa addressed the United Nations in Vienna, the same city where his father was murdered only a few months ago, signalling to Erik and Linda that now was the time to enact their own plans.

Linda grinded her teeth together to keep her mouth from falling open. The king announced that Wakanda will share their resources with the rest of the world, the nation will no longer live in isolation, it will seek to look after the world as a whole.

It was exactly what Erik wanted. Wakandans had the power to save the entire planet if they wanted to but had instead spent centuries keeping their great resources to themselves. But not anymore. King T’Challa didn’t promote uprisings from the persecuted minorities of the world, like Erik would, but it sure seemed like Erik had a hand in this major change in Wakandan foreign policy. And yet T’Challa still retained his crown. It was unlike Erik to stand aside and let someone unworthy handle this power, especially since T’Challa did not complete his vision. But if Erik had made it to Wakanda to face the king after all, where was he now? Why wasn’t he on that platform addressing the United Nations himself?

Feeling sick to her stomach, Linda left a few rupees on the counter and left the café. She no longer had the luxury of time to sip chai. Her wound was healed now, though her stolen medical file frightened her more than she’d like to admit. It wouldn’t do to dwell on that now though. She needed to get to Wakanda and find Erik.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is going to be a bit longer than I originally planned, but since I'm having so much fun writing it, I hope that means you'll have a good time reading. Please let me know what you think in the comments!


	3. Too Few Happy Endings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our first Bucky sighting...

“The whole world’s broken and it ain’t worth fixing. It’s time to start all over, make a new beginning.” – Tracy Chapman

***

It was easy enough to schmooze her way onto a ship sailing across the Arabian Sea to Somalia. Linda’s old contacts in Mogadishu greeted her more warmly than expected, though her heart clenched painfully when they asked where the Killmonger was. They were witnesses to the early days of their relationship, the quick evolution from coy glances to wry banter to being unable to keep their hands off each other. She lied to them with a smile. She was meeting him Nairobi. She’ll pass along their laments that he didn’t drop by for a visit. 

It was easy enough to sneak away from these fellow mercenaries she could almost call her friends that evening to hotwire one of their jeeps. The car was probably already stolen from someone else, with fresh plates – they wouldn’t dare report it missing. 

It was easy enough to drive halfway across the African continent, though it was time-consuming. And Linda’s anxiety grew with each night spent in village inns where keepers didn’t bat an eye at a woman travelling on her own as long as she paid in cash, more than she was charged. She travelled more traditional, less conspicuous garb. She appreciated the breathable local fabrics as October ticked into November with little relief from the oppressive heat. 

It was easy enough driving across the border into Wakanda, as there was no official barrier into the country. The dirt road and surrounding grasslands remained unchanged, but the air around her grew uniquely charged. Linda knew she finally arrived.

A small group of patrollers approached within minutes, blocking the road, and Linda slowed the jeep to a stop. She looked at her backpack on the passenger seat, bought on the fly back in Busan and holding all the belongings she had, and then left it to step out of the car to face this border patrol.

“Welcome to Wakanda,” one of the patrollers said, stepping forward. He was muscled and draped in blue fabric. “What is the reason for your visit?”

“I’m looking for someone,” Linda said. “He should be in your capital city.”

“What is his name?” he asked. “And to that end, what is your name?”

The man was smiling, but his eyes bored into her, assessing her threat level. Two other patrollers had touched beads on their wrists and were examining projected databases with great concentration. The remaining four men sat stoically atop large rhinos that snorted in her direction. Linda exhaled sharply. She had a feeling no one was going to like her response.

“I’m looking for Erik Stevens,” Linda said. The lead patroller’s eyebrows rose, and the others bristled.

“What makes you think you’ll find your friend here?”

“I never said he was a friend,” Linda replied. “The name seems to be familiar to you. Any assistance with my search would be appreciated.”

The man frowned, not happy Linda dodged his leading question, but was interrupted by one of the patrollers with an open database.

“The jeep is stolen.”

The lead patroller narrowed his eyes and walked toward Linda. “Identification, please.”

Linda let him approach. She left her weapons in her bag. A fight wasn’t what she needed now. “I don’t have any.”

The man stopped in front of her. “What will we call you as we take you into custody?”

She smiled. “Linda.”

***

The border patrol brought her into the city, as she hoped, to a cell not far from the palace. A technician appeared before they even locked her into examine her bracelet. He was silent for a moment, tracing the metal with his thumb, and then he pulled a laser out of his coat. Instead of slicing through the bracelet, it warped the metal, stretching it so it could slide off Linda’s wrist. Though Linda was locked in after the tech left, taking the bracelet with him, she couldn’t help feeling like a major shackle had been broken. She tried to eavesdrop on the guards, but she didn’t know enough Xhosa to learn much. Erik taught her a few words many months ago when they first planned to infiltrate Wakanda, but hearing people speak at full speed was frustratingly difficult.

She was not surprised when she was brought to an interrogation room the following day, since Erik’s name seemed to be such a buzzword in this country, though Linda doubted it was with a positive connotation. She waited patiently in a drab, beige prisoner’s dress, her hands cuffed behind her back and secured to the back of the chair she sat in. A metal table was bolted to the ground, separating her from an empty chair. 

The surprise came when the door opened to reveal King T’Challa himself, accompanied by two women with shaved heads in red armor, spears in hand.

Linda guessed Erik’s name would garner the attention of someone important, but the presence of the King of Wakanda could not mean good news for her. Or for Erik, she thought, her heart aching. 

T’Challa sat down easily, looking at Linda with wary curiosity. His hair and beard were trimmed with precision, and he was dressed in a simple but elegant robe. If Linda weren’t so afraid of what he had to say, she would deem him a handsome man. But as it was, she was more concerned with the heavy sigh that escaped his lips.

“Sergeant Linda Baboolal,” he said. He placed a folder on the table between them that Linda recognized as her medical file from Busan, the one she left in her backpack, ripe for the taking. “You’re not hiding from us.”

It wasn’t a question, so Linda didn’t answer. T’Challa watched her with his wide brown eyes for another moment before continuing.

“Who is Erik Stevens to you?”

“I know who he is to you,” Linda said. “Your cousin, N’Jadaka.”

T’Challa sighed again. “You must hold a great deal of his trust for him to confide in you.”

“He didn’t intend for it to remain a secret for long,” Linda said. “Yet the truth hasn’t left Wakanda.”

T’Challa didn’t react. “I wonder why you were not at his side when he arrived here.”

Linda shook her head. “No, you don’t. That file contains meticulous dates. You know what happened to me.”

Again, T’Challa was not thrown by her response. “He did this to you.”

“Which part?”

“The near fatal gunshot wound.”

Linda swallowed. “Yes.”

T’Challa leaned back in his chair. “But he is not your enemy.”

This was the dangerous part, the part that decided her fate, whether she’d be tossed in prison cell forever, whether she’d ever see Erik again. This king seemed genuine in that stereotypically heroic way, as if he wanted to “do the right thing,” striving toward that concept that doesn’t exist. Yet Linda admired it, begrudgingly. It encouraged her to be honest.

“No.”

“No,” T’Challa repeated, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. But it disappeared in seconds, replaced with a furrowed brow. “What is it that you want, Sergeant Baboolal?”

“To see Erik,” she said easily.

“And then?”

Linda shrugged. “Depends.”

T’Challa was frowning, and to Linda’s dismay, it didn’t seem to be in response to her answer. He looked sad, his eyes clouded with what looked like regret. A strange desperation clawed at her throat, but she kept her voice steady.

“Where is he?”

T’Challa met her gaze steadily and told her everything. Erik Stevens came to Wakanda, defeated T’Challa in battle, claimed the throne, became the Black Panther, immediately ordered Wakandan weapon distribution for oppressed communities around the world, was stopped by an internal uprising led by T’Challa, was ultimately slain in hand-to-hand combat by his cousin, chose death rather than be healed with Wakandan advanced medical technology.

“Death was better than bondage.” T’Challa repeated Erik’s final words. 

Linda was listening silently, but this last sentence forced a sob out of her. It was just… exactly what Erik would do. What scared him most in life was not having a choice, when things were out of his control, when a father could be murdered in his own home, a body left for his kid son to discover, with no way for justice to be served. To take the last bit of agency he had to die on his own terms… Linda closed her eyes. It’s exactly what Erik would have wanted. She didn’t think he would do anything differently if he had another chance. That brought a tiny bit of peace to her heart.

She was surprised that she was not surprised that Erik was dead. A large part of her expected it since the UN press conference, when he was conspicuously absent from the proceedings. But the extinguishment of her tiny spark of hope hurt. Badly. Grief pulsed through her veins like concrete. She wanted to lay down, let it settle in her bones, so she could learn to live with it rather than allow it to ravage her completely.

But there would be no laying down. She was handcuffed to a chair in a Wakandan interrogation room in front of a king. Linda gritted her teeth, pushing her emotion deep into her belly to deal with at a later date, and then she lifted her gaze as calmly as she could to T’Challa, who continued to watch her carefully.

“You will not be returning to your cell tonight,” he said finally.

Linda did not answer. She hardly cared what happened to her anymore. She got what she came for. Erik was dead, but at least she knew.

T’Challa pointed to the file in front of him again. “You must know we have many concerns about you. This one is most pressing. Do you understand what almost happened to you?”

Her medical problems were hardly a priority in her mind at that moment, but she had sense enough to still feel a tingle of fear about what she read in her medical file. Linda’s voice was hoarse when she replied. “Yes.”

“Then you won’t be surprised that you are to be taken to our laboratories for assessment.”

Linda didn’t respond, all of her effort focused on repressing her urge to scream. She didn’t want to be chained to another medical facility, being poked and prodded when she was so emotionally raw. But she didn’t have a say, of course. Erik chose death over bondage. The choice wasn’t offered to Linda, but she wasn’t as brave as Erik. She had always clung to survival, whereas Erik knew there were things more important than his own life. That burning sense of purpose was what attracted Linda to him in the first place. Maybe Erik would have been that “thing” more important than her own life for Linda, but he was gone. Now what?

Well, now Linda was brought to a shiny skyscraper, entering an elevator, still handcuffed and accompanied by two armed guards. Instead of shooting up the tall glass building, the elevator zipped down several stories, ultimately opening to a bright, chrome laboratory. A number of technicians darted around as several different projects were conducted at once.

A thin young woman with long braids twisted into an updo met them, and though she was small and barely 20 years old, it was clear from the deference she received from everyone in the room that she was in charge. Even more surprisingly, according to the guards’ greetings, this woman was Princess Shuri, T’Challa’s younger sister.

But Linda didn’t have enough room to feel anything else, so she followed Shuri robotically toward an empty corner. She wasn’t the only patient in the Wakandan laboratories: someone else was laid on a table-like machine. Oddly it was covered with clear plexiglass. But Linda passed by the table toward her own, and a partition separated her from the rest of the room.

Shuri impatiently had the guards remove Linda’s handcuffs and shooed them away. The guards didn’t move far, just out of earshot and with one eye on their prisoner. But Linda found it a bit easier to breathe with fewer people crowded around her.

Shuri had her triaged with an IV in seconds and then frowned at the vitals she read. She brought sympathetic, inquisitive eyes to Linda’s before rummaging in a nearby drawer.

She returned and pressed a pill and a glass of water into her hand. “Valium. Your blood pressure is appalling, though understandably so. This will help.”

“You know I’m recovering from a heart injury, right?” Linda said mildly, popping the pill anyway.

Shuri rolled her eyes but pursed her lips with sympathy, and Linda realized the double meaning in her own words. “I did read your file, Sergeant Baboolal.”

It was weird being addressed so formally, especially since she wasn’t in the Air Force anymore. But that was the thing with military titles: once you earned them, you got to keep them forever. It wasn’t long before Linda felt as if a knot was loosening in her chest, and the concrete in her bloodstream seemed to dissipate. She sighed.

“Better?” Shuri said, raising her eyebrows with a small smile. She tapped the IV to fill a few vials with Linda’s blood.

“Yeah,” Linda replied gruffly.

“Good. You may as well settle in because you are here for the night for observation.”

Linda leaned back, stretching her legs along the medical table and found it fairly comfortable. It was firm, yet supported every curve her body completely, and it was easy to surrender to a fitful sleep.

***

The sleep didn’t last. She woke up often in the night. The laboratory was mostly dark, but the guards remained posted nearby. Linda didn’t mind so much. At least the handcuffs didn’t return. And after a round of saline, Shuri removed the IV, though Linda’s body was covered in wireless sensors that read every vital sign her body could give. Still, things could be a lot worse, and while she wasn’t at ease with the situation, as far as prisons go, this wasn’t bad.

And now she elected to take advantage of one her privileges: using the bathroom all by herself. As Linda rolled off the table and trekked across the lab toward the toilets, she could feel the guards watching her. She knew they didn’t need to follow her because if she made one false move, they’d have a spear through her neck in seconds. Linda didn’t plan on testing that theory.

But on her way back from the bathroom, she took her time, observing the fascinating Wakandan technology around her. The weapons were locked away, out of sight, as was all confidential paperwork. The most catching item in the room was the other patient, who Linda hadn’t heard or seen yet. She approached the cot with interest, wondering why they hadn’t seemed to move at all.

He was a white man, a rarity in this country, especially since Wakandans were notoriously wary of outsiders. This only peaked Linda’s interest more, and she moved nearer for a better look. He was asleep, but so still he could have been dead, if not for the pink flush of life that clung to his cheeks. He wore a white tank top, white pants, and heavy boots: very Western in style, Linda noted. He was missing his left arm. Linda squinted – was that a metal shoulder? Her eyes moved up to where his shoulder length brown hair splayed behind him. And his face… looked very familiar. Under thick stubble, he had a square jaw, soft lips, full brows…

Linda barely refrained from gasping. That man was the goddamn Winter Soldier, one of the most dangerous men on the planet. She stared at him, frozen, heart hammering. This man carried out dozens of assassinations completely on his own, and that’s only counting those that were willing to consider that he existed. He was a ghost, slaughtering his targets and disappearing into the night. Linda heard of him years ago. As a black ops operative, she was an assassin herself in all but name. There were missions she didn’t need to complete because the Winter Soldier did her job for her. When the Hydra files went public two years ago, she was able to put a face to this enigmatic soldier. And this legend had an actual name. James Buchanan Barnes.

“Back to bed, Sergeant,” one of the guards called, and Linda obeyed, shaking herself.

What was the Winter Soldier doing in Wakanda, in some kind of medically-induced coma? Unless… he was cryogenically frozen. That’s what Hydra had done to him – sealed him away until they needed him to kill anyone who threatened them. Was he a tool Wakanda had acquired, ready to unleash on enemies of their nation? 

But, wait – Linda’s eyes widened. Their history runs deeper than that. The Winter Soldier was the one who bombed the UN building in Vienna, the attack that killed the former King of Wakanda. The Soldier was a terrorist in their eyes, and now he was their prisoner, hidden under the nose of the International Security Council. The Winter Soldier’s infamous presence near her was unsettling enough, but thinking about Wakanda’s intention for him kept Linda awake the rest of the night.


	4. Stars Will Align

“God, she had a plan, stronger than I know. Soon I’d understand the power I possess, the story of the chosen.” – Kid Cudi

***

Linda lay flat on her back staring up at the chrome ceiling when the lights of the lab slowly glowed brighter. She remained still as the sounds of technicians milling about reached her, only turning her head toward the opening in her corner’s partition as light footsteps neared.

“Good morning, Sergeant Baboolal,” Shuri said cheerfully. Her braids were loose down her back, bouncing off her shoulders as she tapped the beads on her wrist to project Linda’s medical chart. “Did you sleep well?”

Linda sat up stiffly. “Don’t you already know the answer to that?”

Shuri smiled wryly. “I was being polite. Good to know we can drop formality going forward though.”

Linda froze for a moment, wondering if she offended the Wakandan princess, but ultimately she decided she didn’t care. She was already a prisoner after all. She stared at the ceiling again, distracting herself from thoughts of Erik. And the goddamn super assassin across the room.

At last Shuri sighed. She tapped a button on her necklace, and a stool zipped toward her. She sat herself easily in front of Linda and gave her the full attention of her inquisitive stare.

“Let’s work through these reports chronologically,” Shuri said, peering at Linda carefully. “The gunshot wound. Nearly healed, though it is too late for me to do anything about the scar tissue. I can see trace amounts of shrapnel remaining in your chest cavity, but they are very near your heart. I do not foresee them causing any damage at this point, so there is less risk leaving them where they are than if I attempt to extract them. Whoever performed the surgery when you were initially injured did excellent work.

“As for what happened during your stay with your captors…” Shuri hesitated before continuing. “Well, you read your file. You know what their intent was. You wouldn’t be the first soldier to undergo super serum testing and mental manipulation at the hands of Hydra. Is there anything in particular you remember from your treatment, Sergeant?”

Linda pursed her lips together, her eyes darting toward the partition where she knew a brainwashed super soldier lay unconscious at that very moment. She couldn’t help thinking that could have been her. Hell, she wasn’t totally sure that wasn’t what she’d already become in the weeks she spent secured in a cell in Busan.

She swallowed and forced herself to speak. “Opiates through an IV. I was unconscious most of the time, so I can’t be sure of anything else.”

“Any memory lapses?”

“Not long-term,” Linda replied with confidence. “But as for whatever happened in that cell while I was out of it, I’m not certain.”

Shuri nodded. “I can confirm you have tested negative for the super serum. From what I understand, it is a painful, very memorable procedure to undertake. Hydra’s memory erasing technique as well is extremely uncomfortable and requires the patient to be fully conscious when administered. That is the good news I have for you.”

Linda couldn’t help but blanch at that. “There’s bad news?”

Shuri’s eyes narrowed. “I would consider it news of interest. The tests indicate an abnormality in activity in the prefrontal cortex of your brain. We would like to monitor this further, as this has the potential to be a result of interference.”

Linda didn’t think she could handle another blow to her heart after hearing about Erik, but still a fresh wave of emotion beat into her chest. “What did they do to me?”

Shuri stared at her for a moment before responding. “You saw the other patient last night. Do you recognize him?”

Linda clenched her jaw and nodded.

“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes,” Shuri said, seeming to search for a reaction at the name, but Linda sat stoically, waiting for her to continue. “A prisoner of war with Hydra, who gave him the serum and brainwashed him to the point that he had no sense of the person he was and acted as a weapon, the Winter Soldier, obedient to their organization alone. But how did they accomplish this?

“There were memory wipes, which you were fortunate enough not to experience, but there was more. Hydra ensured obedience by altering the prefrontal cortex of his brain, which affects impulse control, personality, and self-regulated movement, among other things. Hydra used trigger words to make sure the Winter Soldier was completely under their control, with no power of his own, so he would do as commanded and only as commanded.”

Linda felt nauseous. “Are you telling me that I could turn into a mindless slave weapon if someone says a trigger word?”

“I do not think the Hydra agents actually completed the process,” Shuri said. “Especially when I can use the scans of someone whose brain was definitely affected as a comparison. But that doesn’t mean you could potentially be very dangerous.”

Linda sat very still, and there was a croak in her voice as she replied. “But if they never wiped my memory…”

“They wouldn’t need to,” Shuri said evenly, never looking away from Linda. “It helps to maintain the control over longer periods of time, but memory storage occurs in a different part of the brain entirely.”

Linda closed her eyes. This was it… she was going to die after all. There was no way any sane person would let her live when she could become a weaponized assassin in seconds. And if the Wakandans intended to use her themselves… well, maybe she could be brave like Erik. Death was better than bondage.

“Fortunately, you have caught me in the middle of a solution,” Shuri said with a shrug.

“A solution?” Linda parroted. She was afraid to hope there was someway to fix whatever damage had been done to her mind.

“A permanent one, at that,” Shuri smiled. “Sergeant Barnes came to us for help with the same problem, after all. He has waited several months now. You will not have to wait as long. I have nearly figured it out.”

“You’re… helping him?” Linda couldn’t hide her shock.

Shuri’s smile faded a bit. “You thought we would use him for ourselves? Wakanda does not need outsider weaponry. Nor do we intend to use our new sense of diplomacy to bend the rest of the world to our will with violence and destruction.”

Linda doubted Shuri was the one who made decisions like that, but she trusted the young woman’s earnestness. Still, she was unsettled enough to ask a dangerous question. “But… didn’t he kill your father?”

Shuri’s smile was definitely gone now. She stood and moved toward a cabinet a few meters away, but before she turned away, Linda saw her eyes cloud with grief.

“No, he did not.”

Linda restrained herself from asking who did. She stared at the braids at Shuri’s back until the girl faced her once again, a small smirk settled in place.

“You cannot always believe what you see on television, Sergeant.” Linda didn’t reply, and Shuri approached her, touching one of the sensors on her forehead carefully. “We can repair any damage done to your brain in a matter of weeks. I would ask if you are willing to remain with us until such a time, but I am afraid my brother is not offering a choice.”

This was not surprising to Linda. Despite her lack of shackles and free-flowing dialogue with the princess, Linda was a prisoner. She wasn’t even sure which crimes she would be charged with, but she guessed sentencing was not far off.

“My brother wants to speak with you again,” Shuri continued, a serious note coloring her voice. “You currently pose a threat to our country.”

Linda felt a jolt of fear run down her spine. “Will I have to be frozen like… him?” She could hardly speak the Soldier’s name. Despite knowing the parallels of their circumstances, the Winter Soldier struck an eerie chord with her. Maybe it was because of these parallels that she was afraid to think much about him.

“He is in cryosleep, not frozen,” Shuri said breezily. “Even still, it was a fairly extreme option. But Sergeant Barnes insisted. He was very wary of what he was capable of.”

Linda was shocked into silence. His torturers kept him in an induced coma for decades and he voluntarily chose it for himself again? Out of fear he would hurt someone else against his will? Linda had to admit it was… brave. 

The kind of bravery Linda did not have.

“You will not be able to stay in the city,” Shuri continued. “Not with the risk you carry. We need to isolate you as much as possible. Fortunately, there is a village not far north from here where you can settle for now.”

Again, Linda did not respond. She had resigned herself to death only to survive another day over and over in the last few months. Now she found herself facing life anew in the Wakandan countryside rather than a prison cell? All while her own mind could become a killing machine in seconds at the sound of one unknown word? And her reason to live, the reason she fought to reach Wakanda in the first place, was gone. So why did that survival instinct continue to wriggle in her chest? Why did she feel relief at avoiding cryosleep, and hope that her weaponized brain could be healed? 

Shuri didn’t seem surprised at Linda’s silence. “You will have breakfast now, Sergeant Baboolal, and then meet with my brother.”

***

Linda wasn’t escorted to an interrogation room this time, nor was she handcuffed. The guards brought her to the palace and into a receiving room where King T’Challa stood gazing out of a large window at the expanse of the bustling city. The guards left her in the center of the room and then fell back to the door. She wasn’t sure if she should approach the king or not so she remained where she was. 

Finally, T’Challa spoke, eyes not moving from the window. “Erik Stevens was an enemy of the nation of Wakanda, a terrorist, a dictator. And you were his ally.”

Linda froze. She could hardly deny his claims as false, but rage flared through her veins at his reduction of Erik to this strict definition. 

T’Challa wasn’t finished. “Erik was also a revolutionary. He saw injustice and wanted it righted. While I disagreed with his methods, the core of his vision was something I could believe in. Wakanda is no longer in isolation. This would not have happened without him.” Linda suppressed a sob in her throat as T’Challa continued. “I regret that Erik died as he did, but I do not think that he would. Given the chance, I do not think this could have ended any other way.”

Linda knew all this, had essentially already discussed this with the king, but the tears came anyway, flowing silently down her cheeks as she resisted outright bawling. Finally, T’Challa looked at her intently, as if he were trying to read into her soul.

“I do not see a sense of vengeance from you for his death,” T’Challa said after a moment. “Nor do I think you seek to pursue his vision further than I have already enacted it. But you have affiliations with two known enemies of the state. I saw you in action myself in South Korea. The Killmonger and Klaue are both dead now. So where does that leave you? What will you do now?” Linda waited, and T’Challa sighed. “I think you do not know the answer to that.”

“No,” Linda croaked at last. “No, I don’t.”

“I can sympathize, you know,” T’Challa said quietly. “My father was murdered. I sought revenge against his killer. I pursued the Winter Soldier across many countries. I later learned I was chasing the wrong man. And when I found the true killer, I realized what this vengeance cost me. I was irrational, close to committing injustice myself. But who was I without this purpose?”

Linda’s tears stopped as T’Challa asked the same question she had been wondering herself. 

“You will have time to consider this in the village,” T’Challa said. “Shuri has told you about the danger of what Hydra might have done to you. Because of these unknowns, I cannot risk the safety of my people. This time you will spend in the farmlands… exile, imprisonment, quarantine… it can be considered all three. I will meet with you again when you are healed. Erik taught me to reconsider my definition of bondage and I intend to honor that here.”

Linda nodded. She should be grateful, she knew, as this seemed to be the most merciful sentencing hearing she could have asked for, but it seemed bizarre to voice thanks aloud. T’Challa didn’t seem bothered. He raised a hand and one of his staff emerged carrying a thin gold band and two of Shuri’s sensors.

“I must insist you wear these, Sergeant Baboolal,” T’Challa explained as the staff member fastened the band to her right ankle and the sensors and both temples. “It will track your health and vital signs, reporting to my sister, and it includes a tracking system so that we can be assured of your location during these next few weeks.”

It sounded like house arrest to Linda, but she was hardly surprised at the constraint. If she were the ruler of Wakanda, she would require a device like this at the bare minimum.

“The bracelet you wore when you arrived in Wakanda featured a GPS tracker,” T’Challa added.

Linda frowned. “I feared as much.”

“Someone knows you are here,” T’Challa said. “Hydra will not be finished with you, even after you are healed.”

“I understand.” 

T’Challa nodded, and then Linda was dismissed. Before long she was ushered into a vehicle and shuttled out of the city. Buildings became more sparse until she could only spot a few huts passing by the car window sticking out amongst the tall grass. A forest of tall trees loomed closer, and the car took a small road into the copse. After a few minutes, the trees opened into a clearing where the car slowed to a stop in front of a one-story hut. As Linda stepped out of the car, she could hear a river bubbling behind it. 

The guards took a moment to tell her about the land – apparently there was a small herd of goats for her to tend to – and point out the path to the local market. Then, she was alone. The sounds of the forest echoed around her. She fixed herself some tea, wrapped a patterned blanket around her shoulders, and settled into a wooden chair outside the entrance to her new home. She sipped her aromatic beverage, staring between the trees as the sun sank below their branches. The blue sky became brushed with orange and pink, just as breath-takingly gorgeous as Erik had whispered it would be many months ago, when their limbs were tangled together under his duvet. 

Alone with the bold sunset, she finally surrendered to racking sobs.


	5. Sun Goes Down

“Sitting down here, fallout shelter. Paint my walls twice a week. Sitting down here, fallout shelter. Think about the slaves, long time ago.” – Otis Taylor 

***

Days ticked by, but Linda hardly noticed. She cried out her grief that first night and woke the next morning still exhausted. It wasn’t long until frustration and anger settled in her bones, though. Then her emotions fizzled into an underlying restlessness that she couldn’t shake. 

Her nightmares restarted. This was the first time in years Linda had no mission to focus her energy on. Now alone with her thoughts and memories, all the horrors she committed were haunting her. At least she didn’t have to stifle the screams that woke her in the night, isolated as she was in the Wakandan woods. It was strange to be struck with terror from her dreams when the faces that plagued her were people she killed: their eyes wide with fear, knowing she was the bearer of their deaths. She’d figured out long ago it wasn’t the people that scared her – it was that she brought that fear to them. It was image after image of proof that Linda was a monster. When had she crossed the line from warrior to villain? Was there ever a difference between the two?

Linda chased away these damning thoughts when morning light trickled into her hut. She channelled the buzzing edginess of lacking a mission into sprucing up her living space and taking care of her three goats: Bella, Edward and Jacob. She named them after the worst love triangle she could think of because it was immediately clear both male goats were working hard to impress the female. When on house arrest – or quarantined, whatever King T’Challa wanted to call it – she figured the ensuing fight between Edward and Jacob for Bella’s affection was going to be her sole source of entertainment.

She was pleased that her ankle brace did not stop her from visiting the rest of the village. The village center held only a few market stalls and a chemist, but it was still a relief to see more than the four walls of her hut every now and then.

The villagers were polite around her but generally kept their distance. Linda was surprised they treated her with any civility at all, considering she was an enemy of the state. And Linda was hardly giving off an approachable aura, with her frustration constantly simmering under her skin. 

A woman who owned one of the stalls with her husband, and also ran a salon from her home, regularly chatted with Linda when she visited the village center. Thando was a robust woman with long locks who never seemed uneasy. When Linda first saw her as she bought groceries from her, Thando asked Linda question after question until she was satisfied Linda was no longer a stranger to her. Considering Linda was a trained spy, she was impressed by Thando’s constant interrogation, but she was harmless. So instead of being alarmed, Linda found Thando endlessly amusing. She felt the same about Thando’s five young children who could always be seen scuttling near their mother’s skirt.

A few weeks passed with Linda spending her days getting creative with her cooking, teaching herself to knit, feeding the Twilight Kids (get it—baby goats?), and gossiping with Thando. The idleness of these somewhat aimless days grew bearable. But the nights were relentless. The nightmares were constant, and sleep came few and far between. She once considered darkness her ally, cloaking her during missions, but now it was suffocating. Hours dragged until sunrise when she could rise from her bed and lose herself in her mundane routines.

One afternoon, Linda stood by Thando’s register, the heat finally abated as the end of November loomed nearer. Thando was whining, begging Linda to let her do something with her loose bushy curls, when two armed guards approached. Linda hadn’t seen anyone from outside the village since her arrival, so when they told her to follow them back to her hut, she did so with trepidation.

Shuri was waiting for her in the wooden chair beside Linda’s front door. Her anxiety lessened a little when the princess grinned at her. 

“Your Highness,” Linda greeted her sarcastically. She dropped into her other chair beside Shuri.

“Don’t be an arsehole, you know we do not do that here,” Shuri laughed. She waved her hand, and the guards stepped away – in sight but out of earshot.

“You never call, you never write,” Linda whined. She couldn’t help teasing – Shuri’s good mood was catching.

“I was busy, and you are quite welcome for that,” Shuri said. She leaned in. “The procedure is ready.”

“Oh, wow,” Linda breathed. Her stomach flipped. She had so many questions on the tip of her tongue.

“Do not worry, I am not breaking out my surgical tools right this minute. I will return in two days to complete the procedure.”

Shuri told Linda she would be under anesthesia, Shuri’s equipment would map her brain activity, identify implanted triggers using an algorithm, and then delicately remove the impulse they induce. It would not take long, she assured her.

Linda nodded and hesitated before asking, “And after?”

“Recovery is immediate. Once the anesthesia wears off, you will be back to normal.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Shuri winced. “Right. So quite a few people are waiting anxiously to speak with you once you are healed. My brother, of course. But also Agent Everett Ross of your American CIA. And Captain Steve Rogers…”

“Captain America?” Linda’s eyes widened. “Captain America wants to talk to me?” Now she knew she was in horrendous trouble if America’s greatest hero was looking for her. Although… didn’t he go rogue last year? Technically an enemy of the state, just like her?

“He is a nice guy, I am sure you have nothing to worry about,” Shuri said a little too innocently.

“I’m in deep international shit. That tone is not helping me be chill about this,” Linda said dryly.

Shuri smirked and then narrowed her eyes. “You have not asked about the other patient.”

“Who? The white boy?” Linda sniffed. 

“The white boy,” Shuri confirmed, smile widening.

Linda had not forgotten about the Fucking Winter Soldier. Or Sergeant Barnes, whatever. She was almost as terrified that he would be waking up soon as she was about her own procedure. What would he be like once he was deprogrammed? Linda knew she had killing instincts that had nothing to do with Hydra. Did Barnes? She strained to remember what her high school textbooks said about James Barnes but could only recall that he was Captain America’s best friend.

Oh! So Captain America wasn’t coming all the way to Wakanda for her after all. His primary goal must be to see Barnes. Linda just happened to be there too.

“Where will he go?” Linda wondered aloud. Maybe he and Captain America would go on the run together since they both were in trouble with the United States. Although Barnes was wanted in probably every country in the world.

“He is more than welcome to stay here,” Shuri shrugged.

“Why not hand him over to the security council? Surely they want to put him on trial.”

Shuri frowned. “He would have quite a complex case. Few would understand that. He deserves to heal before he faces that reality, does he not?”

“I thought the procedure would show immediate—”

Shuri gave Linda a sad smile before interrupting. “I am not referring to the procedure, Sergeant Baboolal. Sergeant Barnes has suffered for a very long time.”

Linda looked away toward the trees which were still, as if reflecting on Shuri’s words just as Linda was. 

Shuri sighed and continued. “Hydra is evidently still active, so he is hardly safe. Who can he trust?”

Linda barely refrained from scoffing. “Does he really need protecting?”

“We will see,” Shuri shrugged. Then she rose from her chair. The guards moved closer, one of them tapping his beaded bracelet. A sleek car rolled into the clearing.

“Two days, Sergeant Baboolal,” Shuri said. “We will be here before noon.”

“Linda,” Linda found herself saying. Shuri raised an eyebrow, and Linda continued. “You can call me Linda.”

Shuri smiled broadly. “Good day to you, Linda.”

That night, Linda dreamed about the Winter Soldier. He was in head-to-toe black Kevlar, metal arm glinting in the glow of a streetlight, face hidden by a mask. He stalked toward her, a knife in his gloved flesh hand. Linda was rooted to the spot, unable to see anything but the Soldier in the darkness, unable to breathe. He was just like the photograph in the leaked Hydra documents, but as she watched, he changed. The metal arm disappeared, the Kevlar became the white tank and trousers he wore when she saw him in the lab. She waited for the mask to fade as well, but it remained in place. And then he was right in front of her. In her anticipation of seeing his face, she forgot to watch his remaining hand. The one clutching the knife. He stabbed with a flash of movement into her chest—

Linda jolted awake, gasping for air. She buried her fists in her blanket until she grounded herself. She blinked into the black of night that still enveloped her. At least her throat didn’t feel raw from screaming, she noted. She rolled over on her mat but she knew sleep wouldn’t come again for her that night.

***

Two days later, Linda laid on her mat as Shuri bounced around her hut. Her usual armed guards waited outside, but two technicians fiddled with intimidating looking equipment beside Linda. Shuri skirted past them and inserted Linda’s IV in the back of her hand. In what seemed like no time, Shuri told Linda to count backward from 100…

And then Linda woke up. The sun still glimmered through her window, but her hut was empty. No equipment, no technicians, no guards, no Shuri. She waited until grogginess melted from her limbs and then Linda got to her feet. She felt… the same.

Voices murmured outside her door, so Linda headed outside. Shuri turned to her when she emerged and grinned. Her technicians stepped back respectfully as Shuri bounded over to Linda. She gestured to Linda’s two wooden chairs, and Linda sat down gratefully. That grogginess wasn’t completely gone yet.

“How are you feeling, Linda?” Shuri said, her eyes glittering.

“Not any different,” Linda admitted.

“Good.”

“Did it work?”

“Definitely.”

“Shouldn’t you run a test to check or something?”

“We already did.”

“So I actually was brainwashed?”

“Yes, but not anymore.”

Linda let this confirmation sink in. She was again grateful to be sitting down because she was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. “Thank you.”

Shuri beamed and started babbling excitedly. “We were able to locate your trigger words fairly quickly. Much quicker than with Sergeant Barnes. The extraction was easier as well…”

“Barnes is… awake?” Linda interrupted.

“Yes, just this morning,” Shuri said, not slowing in her speech. “His procedure was longer than expected actually, but luckily I did not have far to travel from his lodging to yours. No disruption to the schedule. Everyone is awake and sorted and fully functional…”

“Barnes is… here?” Linda interrupted again and eyed the trees surrounding them warily.

Shuri snorted. “Yes, he would not recover nearly as effectively in the chaos of our city, would he? He will have space to heal out here.”

“But does it have to be… here?”

Shuri’s eyes narrowed. “He does not have a matching friendship anklet, if that is what you are asking. He can go where he likes.”

Linda let out a dry laugh. She touched her forehead delicately to find Shuri’s sensors were no longer at her temples. She definitely still had her ankle brace though.

“The trigger words have no effect on either of you anymore, if you are concerned about that,” Shuri continued. “The danger is gone.”

“The mindless part is gone, the assassin part is still there,” Linda amended. Then the weight of what Shuri said hit her. “I… I had specific trigger words?”

“Yes,” Shuri said, softening. “Would you like to know what they were?”

“No!” Linda said quickly. “Well, not right now. Just… don’t say them yet.”

Linda wasn’t sure why she was so frightened. Shuri was confident the procedure worked. But Shuri was not fazed. She motioned to one of the technicians who moved forward and handed her an envelope.

“I thought you might say that.” Shuri passed the envelope to Linda. “Your words are written there. You can read them when you are ready.”

Linda clutched the paper in her hand and found she could not respond. Shuri brushed over that and stood from her chair.

“You have some healing to do, Linda,” she said, and Linda had a sinking feeling she wasn’t referring to that day’s procedure. “Unfortunately, I can only delay my brother one day for you. You can expect to see the king tomorrow.”

Linda nodded. Shuri took a deep breath, looking at the lengthening shadows of the trees.

“This fresh air is nice, but you may fare better inside. It is so chilly this time of year.”

Linda actually smiled. “You should visit Moscow.”

Shuri sucked her teeth. “Not if I can help it. Snow is a fascinating phenomenon I am satisfied seeing in books alone.” They smiled at each other. “Get some rest, Linda.”

And then Linda was alone again. Despite Shuri’s complaint, Linda was comfortable outside. There was no breeze, but the air had just a hint of crispness to it, which was refreshing compared to the heavy heat she first encountered in Wakanda. She sat until the last of the anesthesia finally dissipated and then she went back into the hut for some tea. 

As the kettle heated, she stared at the envelope Shuri gave her. She poured the boiling water in her mug with a teabag and as it brewed… she stared at the envelope. When her tea was ready, she caved. She pulled out the small piece of paper. 

Linda read her words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience, readers! I edited the previous chapters and finally had some time to write this new chapter. More to come :)


End file.
